
Book-?)^? )T^ . 



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LOPEZ AND ^VEMYSS' 

EDITION. 



m(B. s 



ACTING AMERICAN THEATRE. 
THE TRAGEDY OF 

SUPERSTITION, 

WITH A PORTRAIT OF 

MRS- DUFF, 

IN THE CHARACTER OF 

MART. 



The Plays carefully corrected from the Prompt books of the 
PHILADELPHIA THEATRE, 



"By M. liCipez, Prompter, 



E. 



PUBLISHED BY A. R. POOLE, PHILADELPHIA, 
M. MUKDEN, NEW YORK, aild P. THOMPSON, WASH- 
INGTON CITY. 

FOR THE PROPRIETORS. 

And to be had of all the principal booksellers in the 

UJyiTED STATES. 

Price to Non -Subscribers, Fifty Cents. 



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10 
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I PROPOSALS. t 



I In presenting" to the Public the first Number of the Act- W 
I ing" American Theatre, the proprietors feel a pleasure in ^ 
: producing a specimen of American Work, which they trust jp- 
; will satisfy their patrons, of their determination to set .%. 
: emolument aside. ^ 

' The want of a work, in which would be combined the ex- ^ 

cellence of the most perfect copy, with the manner of its'^ 
i exhibition on the Stage, a desideratum to the profession and ip* 
I an advantage to the public, induced the late Mr. Oxberry :^ 
■ to commence his edition, the usefulness of which has been :fe. 
' sufficiently tested; had that work been peculiarly adapted to W 
. this country, it would have been arrogance in us to have ^ 
I entered the lists, but it is not : — a comparison of the copy '^ 
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The superintendance of this Publication has been as- W 

signed to M. Lopez, Prompter of the Philadelphia and -^ 

Baltimore Theatres. . 2" 



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MllSo BUI 



Ih^jrrn^ed by J.B.:Lmgacre from a P^nntir.g Iw-LiN. 
Limi'X ami mmijss'Editiori.. 

Copyrujht fifcured- ar-cordint^ to L,nr. 



LOPEZ ^ WEMYSS' 

EDITION. 



ACTING AM¥.R10AN THliiilTRE. 

CONTAINING THE MOST 

POPULAR PLAYS, 

AS THET AHE PEnrOHMET) AT THE 

PHILABELPHM THEATRE; 

Carefully corrected and published from the Prompt Books ; and 
accompanied with likenesses of 

DISTINGUISHED PERFORMERS, 

IN CHARACTERS, 

Engraved from Portraits executed for the Work, by 
Eminent Artists. 



"B^ M.. liopez, Prompter, 

OF THE PHILADELPHIA AND BALTIMORE THEATRES. 



PUBLISHED BY A. R. POOLE, CHESNUT STREET, 

FOR THE PROPRIETOnS, 

And to be had of all the principal, booksellers in th^ ^,..8. 




Eastern District of Pennsylvania, to nvit .» 

BE IT REMEMBERED, That on the Third 
day of April, in the Fiftieth year of the Inde- 
pendence of the United States of America, A. D. 
1826, Mathias Lopez and Fkancis C. Wkmvss 
of the said District, have deposited in this office 
the Title of a Book, the right whereof they claim as Propri- 
etors, in the words following, to wit: "Lopez and Wemyss* 
Edition. Acting American Theatre, containing the most popu- 
lar Plays, as they are performed at the Philadelphia Theatre ; 
carefully corrected and published from the Prompt Books ; and 
accompanied with likenesses of distinguished Performers, in 
characters, Engraved from Portraits executed for the work, by 
eminent artists." By M. Lopez, Prompter of the Philadelphia 
and Baltimore Theatres. 

In Conformity to the Act of the Congress of the United States, 
entitled, " An Act for the Encouragement of Learning, by 
securing the Copies of Maps, Charts, and Books, to the Authors 
and Proprietors of such Copies, during the times therein men- 
tioned." And also to the Act, entitled, " An Act supplemen- 
tary to An Act, entitled, «' An Act for the Encouragement of 
Learning, by securing the Copies of Maps, Charts, and Books, 
to the Authors and Proprietors of such Copies during the times 
therein mentioned," and extending the Benefits thereof to the 
Arts, of designing, engraving, and etching historical and other 
Prints." 

D. CALDWELL. 
€lerk of the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 



LOPEZ AND WEM^YSS' 

EDITION. 



/ 



ACTING AMERICAN THEATRE. 7 



THE TRAGEDY OF 

SUPERSTITION, 

BY 

JAMES N: BARKER, ESQ. 

AUTHOR OF MARMION A TRAGEDY, &C. 
WITH A POBTKAIT OF 

MRS. DUFF, 

IN THE CHAHACTEB OF 

MART. 



The Plays carefully corrected from the Prompt books of the 
PHILADELPHIA THEATRE. 



"B^ Ml. liopez, Prompter. 



PUBLISHED BY A. R. POOLE, CHESNUT STREET, 

FOR THE PROPRIETORS. 

And to be had of all the principal booksellers in the 

I^jyiTED^STATES. 

Price to non-subscribers. Fifty cents. 






The principal incidents of the following 
humble attempt at a Domestic Tragedy, are 
said to have actually occurred in New Eng- 
land, in the latter part of the 17th Century. 
If objections be made to the catastrophe as 
improbable, the best answer is, that such an 
event is found recorded in the authentic histo- 
ry of that dark period. The author would 
willingly have made his lovers happy, if, as a 
faithful chronicler, he could have done so ; 
but he thought he was bound to give the sto- 
ry as he found it* Perhaps it may not be so 
well calculated for scenic representation ; but 
it is still more likely that any failure observable 
in stage effect, may be owing to the author's 
want of dramatic skill. 



Dramatis Pev8o\i(jb. 



Sir Reginald Egerton.) 

George Egertorit 

JRavenswo'rth 

Walford 

Charles 

The Unknown 

Judge 

1st. Villager 

2nd. ditto • 

JMessenger 

Ist Officer 

2nd. Officer 

Edward, 

Boy 

2nd. Judge 



Villagers, Indians, Supi 



Philadelphia, 
Performed (First time) March 12, 1824. 



Mr. Warren, 
Mr. Wemyss, 
Mr. Darley. 
Mr. AVheatly, 
, Mr. Wood. 
Mr. Daff. 
Mr. Greene. 
Mr. Huthwell, 
. Mr. Jones. 
Mr Big-nail. 
Mr. Johnston. 
Mr. Murray. 
Mr. Parker. 
Master H. Mestayer. 
Mr. Mestayer. 
J. Mestayer. 



Isabella ..... Mrs. Wood. 

J\Iary ..... Mrs. Duff. 

.^lice ..... Mrs. Duran^. 

Lucy ..... Mrs Greene. 

Female Villagers, Mrs. Mestayer, Bignall, Murray, Misses 
Parker, Hathwells, Mestayers. 



S^cene in JVezv England^ about the year \^7o, 
TimCy a little more than Twenty-four hours. 



a2 



Stage Directions. 



lly R. H. - - - - - is meant Right Hand. 

1. H. Left Hand. 

s. E. -- Second Entrance. 

Tj. E. Upper Entrance. 

M. D. ----- Middle Door. 

D. F. Door in Flat. 

R. H. D. Right Hand Door. 

I. H. D. Left Hand Door. 



Time of Representation, — Two hours and Forty 
minutes. 



SUPERSTITION. 



ACT I. 



SCENE I. — A Village at a little distance. Infront^ 
on the left of the Stage^ the cottage of Ravens- 
xvorth; a handsome rustic building. A large man- 
sion^ on an eminence nearer the Village^ on the right. 

Enter from the Cottage^ Mary a?id Alice, l. h. 

Mary. Nay, come away dear Alice, every mo- 
ment 
Of your brief visit mu«5t be wholly mine ; 
Let's leave our fathers to their grave discourse 
Of witch and wizard, ere we laugh outright. 

Alice. It is a subject that the country round 
Deems a most solemn one. 

Mary. True : but to me, 
'Tis not the less absurd on that account. 

Alice. This levity 's misplac'd : your father claims 
Your love and reverence 

Mary. And I do revere him, 
And love him dearly, Alice ; do I not ? 
How often have I striven to melt his sternness j 
And, when my heart was sick of its own cares, 
Lock'd up my selfish sorrows from his view, 
And tried, by every filial endearment, [est j 

To win his smiles. E'en when his brow was dark- 
I've brav'd it's terrors ; hung upon his neck, 
And spoken of my mother : O how sweet 
It were methought, even to weep with him. 

Alice. You're an enthusiast, Mary. Ah, beware, 
Lest this impetuous current of your feeling 
Urge you, one day, against the perilous rock. 



8 SUPERSTITION. C barker. J 

Mary. I'm young, and youth is ardent, and should 
be 
Cheerful, and full of bright and sunny thoughts ; 
I would be if I dared. You too are young. 
Yet may be happy ; for you have a parent 
Who, tho' he guide you safely down the stream, 
Does not, like angry pilots, chide, e'en louder 
Than the loud storm. 

Alice. His high and holy office 
May, haply give to your good father's manner, 
A grave solemnity, perhaps, a harshness 

Mary. And why a harshness ? Sure, ah sure. 
Religion 
Descends not like the vulture in its wrath ; 
But rather like the mild and gentle dove, 
Emblem of peace and harbinger of joy. 
Love in its' eye and healing on its' wing ; 
With pure and snowy plumage, downy soft. 
To nestle in the bosom of its votaries. 

Alice* I cannot argue ; I'm content to follow 
Where e'er our fathers lead. For you, I fear 
You've learn'd too much from this mysterious 
stranger. 

Mary. O Alice, join not you with the slanderous 
crowd. 
Against a noble lady, whom you know not. 
For me, be satisfied I never more 
Perhaps, shall see her : I've obeyed my father; 
And must, tho' it should break my heart : tho* 
Charles (Pauses^ crosses to L. h.^ 

Alice, And what of Charles t 

Mary. Her son — 

Alice, I know : her son. 
And what of him ? 

Mary, This very day, 'tis said 

He will be here— 

Alice. Expell'd, they say, from college. 

Mary. Disgraced — 'Tis false i Charles cannot be 
disgraced 5 



(Act 1.; SUPERSTITION. 9 

If envy, persecution, drive him thence, 

They but disgrace themselves, and not poor Charles. 

Alice. Mary ? 

3Iary. Yes ; take my secret ; take it quickly, 
Or it will burst my heart. 

Alice. Nay, but be calm. 

Mary. You shall know all — surely you'll pity, 
Alice, 
And perhaps, pardon me. Three years ago 
When Charles's mother first came here to live ; 
From England, was it not : The village then- 
Had scarce begun to hate her, for as yet 
She had not lavish'd charities abroad. 
To purchase up ingratitude and envy. 
Being her nearest neighbour, (my dear mother 
Was then alive,^ there rose at once between us 
That intercourse which neighbourhood compels 
At times, e'en with the most reserved. The lady 
I know not why, unless out of her goodness. 
Graced me with her regard, and when my mother 
Died, she took the desolate child to her bosom. 

Alice. 'Twas kindly done. 

Mary. O she was goodness all. 
Her words so sweet and soothing ; as she spoke, 
Alice, methought I saw my sainted mother 
Lean o'er the bright edge of a silvery cloud 
And smile upon her happy orphan girl, — 
And there was Charles, so busy still around me. 
Exhausting all his boyish gallantries. 
With brotherly affection. — 

Alice. Charles, still Charles ? 

Mary. Can I forget it ! — - 

Alice. Nay, go on. 

Mary, The winter 
Soon pass'd away, and then the spring came on 
With all its flow^ers, and still the earliest blossom 
Was cuU'd for me. O, we were then so happy — 
I always lov'd the spring. Young nature then 
Came to me like a play-mate. Ere the snows 



10 SUPERSTITION. f^ar/cerj 

Had left the hills, IVe often wanderM forth, 
And, all impatient for the verdure, clear'd 
A patch of infant green ; or even turn'd 
With mighty effort, some recumbent stone, 
To find the fresh grass under it. 

Alice. This is childish. 

Mary. I was a child, then, — would I were e'en 
now, 
As then I was — my life, I fear will prove 
A wintry waste with no green spot to cheer it ; 

Alice* More visionary still. 

Mary. Well, to my story: — 
My father took me home, I think it was 
About the time you came into the village, 
Fell superstition now had spread around. 
Reports — I scarce know what they meant — arose 
Concerning Isabella ; and my father 
Made gloomier by my mother's death, and yielding 
His strong mind to the doctrine of the times, 
Grew daily still more stern, until at length, 
At peril of his curse, he bade me never 
To hold communion with that family. 

Alice. And you obeyed ? 

Mary. All that I could, I did. 
But O the tales they tell — the horrid stones — 
Her very virtues they distort to crimes. 
And for poor Charles, his manliness and spirit, 
The gayety of youth and innocence. 
In him are vices. Could I help defending, 
Knowing them as I did : — all others hating. 
Could I help loving ! — 

Alice. Loving, Mary? 

Mary. Ay ; Most deeply, strongly loving Charles 
and his mother. 

Alice. But sure you have not seen this Charles ? 

Mary. Not often. — 
Nay frown not friend, for how could I avoid it, 
When chance insisted on an interview ? 
Alice. Have ye met lately ? 



fActl.) SUPERSTITION. 11 

Mary. Yes. 

Alice. What pass'd between you ? 

Mary. A plight of faith : A vow to live or die, 
Each for the other. 

Alice. Lost, lost girl. 

Mary. Why, ay, 
It may be so ; if so, 'tis Heaven's will. 
You have my secret Alice. 

Enter from the House., Ravfnsworth and W At' 

FORD, L. II. 

Alice. Peace ; our fathers. 

(They retire into house., l. h.J 

Rav. No, Walford, no : I have no charity 
For what you term the weakness of our nature. 
The soul should rise above it. It was this 
That made the fathers of this land prevail, 
When man and the elements opposed, and win 
Their heritage from the heathen. 

V/alf. True ; the times 
Impos'd a virtue, almost superhuman. 
But surely, the necessity is pass'd 
For trampling on our nature. 

Rave. We have grown 
Luke-warm in zeal, degenerate in spirit ; — 
I would root out with an unsparing hand. 
The weeds that choke the soil ; — pride and rank 

luxury 
Spring up around us ; — alien sectaries. 
Spite of the whip and axe, infest our limits ; 
Bold infidelity, dark sorcery — 

Waif. Nay, 
Nay Ravensworth — 

Rave. I tell thee Walford, yea : 
The powers of darkness are at work among us. 
Not distant we have seen the fagot blaze, 
And soon the stake may ask its victim here. 

Waif, What victim point you at ? 



12 SUPERSTITION. (Barker.^ 

Rave. Turn your eye — thither 
Upon yon haughty mansion — you have heard ? — 

Waif. Much idle rumour. 

Rave, Do you deem it so. ^ 
Whence then, and who is this imperious dame, 
That holds herself above her fellow creatures, 
And scorns our church's discipline : her means — 
Her business here ? 

Waif. The ignorant and envious 
May find, in her superior intellect — 
E'en in her ample wealth and proud reserve 
Food for their hate, and therefore their suspicion 
But for us, Ravensworth — 

Rave. No more, ere long, 
These questions must be answer'd. 

Waif. Be it so ; 
I shall be ready in all lawful ways 
To seek the truth. 

Rave. 'Tis well, we soon may need you. 
What public tidings hear you ? 
. Waif That King Philip 
Our savage foe, after his late defeat, 
Has gained his rocky hold, where he now lies, 
With scarce a fragment of his former force. 

Rave. Where are our troops ? 

Waif They watch the enemy. 

Rave. They should have followed up their vic- 
tory, 
To the extermination of the heathen. — 
Has there aught chanc'd in the village ? 

Waif There have arrived 
Two persons from the court of Charles. 

Rave. More vanity ! 
What do they here ? 

Waif The elder, it is said, 
Brings letters to the government. 

(Crosses to l. ii.) 

Rave. Charles Stuart, 
Is growing much concern'd about the people 



CActl.) SUPERSTITION. 13 

His family have scourged, hunted and driven 
From shed and shelter in their native land. 
We needs must thank that most paternal care, 
That, when the exposM infant climbs to manhood 
Comes for the first time, then, to claim his service. 

JVaif. You broach a startling topic — But the day- 
wears — 
Fare thee well Ravensworth. 

J^ave. Farewell, farewell. (Exit Walford, L. h.) 
Timid, weak minded man. 

Efiter M\RY, from House, l. h. 

Come hither daughter 

Maty. Father ! ('runnmg' to hhn.J 

Rave. What mean these tears ? 

Mary. I cannot check them. 

Rave. They do displease me, tears can only flow 
From frailty or from folly, dry them straight, 
And listen to me. I have heard, the son 
Of this strange woman is returning home, 
And will again pollute our neighbourhood ; 
Remember my command, and shun his presence 
As you would shun the adder. If report 
Err not, his course of boyhood has been run 
Without one gleam of virtue to redeem 
The darkness of his vices. 

Mary. I'll obey — 
To the utmost of my power. — But, my dear father, 
May not report err sometimes t You were wont 
To instruct me never to withhold the truth ; 
And fearlessly to speak in their defence, 
Whom I could vindicate from calumny ; 
That to protect the innocent, the absent — 

Rave. How's this ! the innocent — and calumny ? 
And whence do you presume to throw discredit 
On general report — What can you know ? 

Mary. Not much perhaps, of late; while I remained 
At his mother's — he was in his boyhood then \ 

B 



14 SUPERSTITION. (Barker.) 

I knew him well : and there's one incident 

Much dwelt on to his prejudice, that I 

Was witness to — if you would bid me tell it. 

Rave. O, by all means, come, your romance. 

Mary. 'Tis truth. 
It was a wintry day, the snow was deep. 
And the chill rain had fallen and was frozen, 
That all the surface was a glittering crust. — 
We were all gather'd in the lady's hall. 
That overlook'd the lawn ; a poor stray fawn 
Came limping toward us. It had lost, perhaps. 
It's dam, and chas'd by cruel hunters, came 
To seek a refuge with us. Every bound 
The forlorn creature made, its litde feet , 

Broke through the crust, and we could mark that; 
one ! 

Of its delicate limbs was broken. A rude boy 
FoUow'd it fast, as it would seem, to kill it; , iL 

I could not choose but wish its life were sav'd, I 

And at the word Charles ran and took it up, 
And gave it to me, and I cherish'd it | 

And bound its broken limb up ; and it liv'd, 
And seem'd to thank me for my care of it. 

Rave. But was this all ? Was not the village lad 
assailed and beaten ? 

Mary. He was rude and churlish. 
And would have forc'd the animal frOm Charles. 
And tho' 'twas on his mothers' grounds, Charles 

proffer'd him 
The price of the fawn ; But nothing would content] 

him. 
And he struck Charles; he was a larger boy, 
But did not prove the stronger — so he went 
And made the village all believe his story, 
That Charles had robb'd and beaten him, for Charles 
Had none to speak for him. 

Rave. No more of this — 
And never let me hear the name you've utter'd 
Pass from your lips again. It is enough 



fJct 1.) SUPERSTITION. 15 

I know this youth for a lewd libertine; 
The woman, for a scoffer at things sacred, 
At me, and at my functions — and perhaps, 
Given to practices, that yet may need 
A dreadful expiation. Get you gone, 
And on your knees petition that you may not 
Deserve my malediction. 

Mart/. I obey. fExit Mary, into cottage, L. h. 
followed by Ravensworth.J 

Enter George Kgertok, followed brj Sir Regi- 
nald, both in shooting dresses^ r. h.u. e. 

Geo. By Heaven a lovely creature ! 

^Sir R. Softly George, 
Is this the game you point at ? Have a care, 
You're not in London now, where our gay monarch 
Sets such a fine example, in these matters. 
They'll have no poaching here, that I can tell you. 
Among their wives and daughters. These same 

roundheads. 
That crop their hair so short — a plague upon 'em — 
Will cut your ears as close, if you're caught med- 
dling, [to. 

George. Why what a heathen region have we come 
What a deuce, uncle, did you bring me here for ? 
To shoot at bears and panthers ; pleasant sport; 
No women : zounds ; I'll back to court again — 
No women ! f Crosses to r. h.j 

Sir R. None : the old they burn for witches, 
The young they keep clos'd up, (like flies in amberj 
In adamantine ice. — 

George. They should be hang'd 
For treason against nature. Let the old ones 
Freeze, 'tis their charter ; but youth should have 
fire. 

Sir R. They've good laws here for gallants — 
t'other day 
They put a man i' the stocks because he kiss'd 
His wife o' Sunday. 



16. SUPERSTITION. (Barker J 

George. They were in the right. 
Kiss his own wife ! it is a work -day business ; 
Play-days and holy-days, are made for lovers. 

Sir R. To lay hands on a maid here's present 
death. 

George. It might be so in London, and no lives 
lost : 
The law were a dead letter there — 

Sir R. And widows 
May not be spoken to, under the pain 
Of fine and pillory. 

George. Uncle, let's embark, 
Tho' for the north pole j this clime is too cold — 
Or to some catholic country, where a man 
May have flesh sometimes : here 'tis always lent. 

Sir R. No : you must stay, your stomach must 
endure it. 

George. I'faith, dear uncle, being a cavalier, 
A gentleman of honour and of breeding, 
I marvel much you could come hither ; but 
The greater wonder is, you'd have me with you, 
Knowing my humour. 

Sir R. Troth, my gentle nephew. 
Knowing your humour, I could do no better 
Than take you from the sphere of Charles's court ; 
From Rochester, and his dissolute companions, 
To cool your blood here in the wilderness. 

George Well 1 there may come a time. 

Sir R, As for my voyage. 
Perhaps it was a royal jest : or, haply 
My clothes had grown too rusty for the court. 
Or Charles was tired of the old cavalier. 
Who had fought some battles for him, and consum'd 
Some certain paltry acres — all he had — 
And having left no vacant place at court, 
He sent me here Ambassador. 

George. But uncle, 
Is that your character r 



fActl.J SUPERSTITION. 17 

S'ir jR. Much the same thing, 
In christian countries, nephew ; I'm a spy. 

George. The devil ! 

Sir R. Yes : we read in ancient history, 
Of Kings and Emperors, who have kept the men 
Who heip'd them to the Throne, (by simply putting 
Their fathers out o'the way) — about their persons, 
As their prime friends. But Charles, being advis'cl 
That this was in bad taste, and took place only 
In semi-barbarous courts, finds it decorous 
To grow a little angry with the persons 
That kill'd his father. And being told, besides, 
That his most loving and belovt-d subjects 
This side the water — who, by the way, he never 
Thought of before — had given food and shelter 
To certain of the regicides, he sends me 
To 

George. Well Sir ? 

Sir R. Nothing. Come, 'tis growing late 

(Crosses to l. h.) 
We must regain our cottage. In the morning, 
We leave the village. 

George. 'Gad, with all my soul — - 
And so to England ? 

Sir R. Not so fast, good Springal, 
We must have patience yet. Come, let's begone. 

George. I'll see her in the morning, tho' they 
hang me. 

(Exeunt., l. h. George looking hack.) 



END OF ACT I. 



b2 



18 . SUPERSTITION. (Barker.J 

ACT II. 

SCENE I. — A Forest. In the back ground a7i insu- 
lated caverned rock. Night. The Unknown e;z- 
ters by a bridge formed of the trunk of a tree, 
xuhich is let dozvnfrom therock^ u. e. r. h. rHis 
dress is of Skins : his general appearance., wild — 
but his air and manner dignified. He is armed.) 

Unk. Yes : it is near the dawn — the dawn ! when 
man 
Again shall greet his fellow man, and nature, 
Through all her living kingdom shall rejoice. 
I only of the human race, condemn'd 
To shun my species, and in caves of night 
Shut out the common day. Ye glorious stars, 
I gaze on you — I look on you, ye Heavens, 
With an unblenching eye. You read the heart, 
And you can judge the act. If I was wrong j 
If innocent blood rest on me — here I stand 
To pay the dreadful forfeiture, — let fall 
In drops of fire your red-hot vengeance on me. 
Am I a murderer ? Is the mark of Cain 
Imprinted on my front ! — I would not murmur — 
But as I am but man, forgive it Heaven. 
Torn from the beings that I fondly lov'd. — 
For nineteen years an outlaw and a wanderer — 
Proscribed and hunted like the ravening wolf ; — 
A price set on my felon head — A felon ! 
Am I so, Heaven ! Did these wounds, receiv'd 
In thy holy cause, stream with a felon's blood, 
Was it a felon's courage nerv'd my arm, 
A felon's zeal that burn'd within my heart ? 
Yet this I could endure — but when I think 
Of thee my child — my daughter — Ha ! a step ! 
Perhaps a beast of prey ! I fear not that. 
The panther is my co-mate and my brother j 
Man only is mine enemy — He comes. 

f Retires into cavey l. h. u. e.) 



CAct 2.) SUPERSTITION. 19 

Enter Charles, r. h. in a fieat hiinWig dress of 

green^ cap^ b'^c. a short sxuord^ or coiiteau-de-ckasse 

slung^ and a gun in his hand. 

Charles. Each step I take but plunges me the 
deeper 
In this wild labyrinth. — Here's a pretty scene 
For those whose love o' the picturesque, could 

make them 
Forget their bed and supper. My poor mother 
Will: be so disappointed — and, dear Mary, 
Will not your hopes, too, rise with the lark : I'll on, 
But whither ? May I not be straying further : 
I must needs make my couch e'en here. — What's 

this ? 
A bridge ; and further on, methinks, a cavern, 
'Twill serve — But hold — perhaps I shall disturb 
Some wild beast in his lair. Tut ! 'tis some hunter 
Has made his cabin here — I'll try. (Going- to cavern.) 

Unk. Pass not. f Enters from cave. J 

Charles. You speak commandingly. 

Unk. And may, when strangers 
Intrude upon my privacy. That cave 
Is mine, my castle. 

Charles. It must beconfess'd 
You play the Castellain right courteously. 

Unk. No trifling, boy. Are you a spy ? — What 
are you ? 

Charles. My answer's here, f Levelling his gun. J 

Unk. Tut, overweening child. 
Level thy weapon at the timid deer 
That fears thy puny skill. The wither'd leaf 
Stirr'd by the falling nut, or passing breeze, 
Startles as much as does thy idle menace. 

Charles. To prove it is not idle — 

Unk. Hold, rash boy ; 
If but this tube is rais'd, thou perish'st. 
For years, as many as thou tell'st of life, 
I've wielded it. 



20 SUPERSTITION. (Barker.) 

Charles. I've had some practice too. 

XJi^k. Do you provoke your fate !— But hold ; no, 
no — 
Though 'twere my sole security, no blood. 
He spoke ol' his mother too; I'll not deprive 
The mother of her child — Hear me bold youth. 
*Tis meet that I should know so much of thee, 
As to be well assur'd thou com'st not hither, 
At this dark hour, for evil purpose — tell me — 
I do not now command, but I request thee — ■ 
"Wherefore this visit ? 

Charles. Now, sir, that your question 
Is one a gentleman may give reply to, 
I'll frankly tell you. I've a mother lives, 
I trust, in the next town. A short time since 
I left her, for the second time, for college, 
To make a second trial for the honours, 
I think, with due humility, I'd merited. 
Their worships as before play'd with my patience, 
'Till I grew tired of it, and told them so. 
In good round terms. Glad of the lit excuse, 
They just discover'd then, I was too wild 
For their strait limits, and so they expell'd me. 

Urik. You speak but lightly of a circumstance 
Tliat an ingenuous and aspiring youth ; 
And, such you seem, might vvell think serious. 

Charles. I cannot be a hypocrite, and deem 
The acts of solemn folly serious. 
When I shall cease to scorn malevolence 
And learn to reverence cant and superstition. 
Then, not 'till then. Til weep at my expulsion. 

Unh. But to your tale. 

Charles, 'Tis told: I turn'd my back 
On my grave censors ; seized my hunter's arms, 
And struck into the wilderness for home ; 
"Which by the forest route I hoped to reach 
Ere the light closed to-day. I was deceiv'd^ 
Night came upon me ; yet, I travell'd on. 
For by a civil horseman that pass'd by 



('Act 2.) SUPERSTITION. 21 

I had sent letters bidding them expect me 

Briefly, when I had fairly lost myself 

I met a hunter, whose bark cabin stands 

A few miles hence. He put me in the track, 

And pointed out a cerain star to steer by ; 

But passing clouds, and intervening boughs, 

And perhaps thoughts of home, and those at 

home, 
Marr'd my astronomy. I lost my star, 
And then I lost my path, and then myself. 
And so, through swamp and thicket, brake and 

bramble, 
I've scrambled on thus far — and, there's my story. 

Unk. Your way was perilous — Did you meet 
nothing? 

Charles. Not much. Sometimes a snake I trod 
on coird 
Around my leg, but I soon shook him off; 
A howl at times approach'd — and as I pass'd, 
The brake stirr'd near me with some living thing 
Beside myself — but this was all. 

Unk, 'Twas wrong. 
Rashly to tempt these dangers. If your air 
Deceive me not, you are of foreign birth. 

Charles. Not four years since, we left our native 
England. 

U?ik. England ! 

Charles. But why's a mystery. We're not known 
Nor understood here ; we're of another world. 

Unk. Your name ? 

Charles. 'Tis Charles Fitzroy. 

Urik. Fitzroy ! Your mother's ? 

Charles. You're somewhat curious : Isabella. 

Uik. Ha ! 

Charles. What is it moves you ? 

Unk. Isabella, say you ? 

Charles. This strong emotion — 

Unk. It is nothing, nothing. — 



22 SUPERSTITION. fBarkerJ 

Or — is it strange that I should feel emotion 
At the sad tale you tell ? 

Charles. Sad tale ! 

U?ik. I wander. — 
I've been a solitary man so long 
That — 'Tis no matter. — What dost think me youth? 

Charles. A hunter who loves freedom and the 
forest ; 
Who'd rather kill his venison in the wood 
Than toil for it in the town. Am I not right ? 

Unk. 'Tis true — I am — a hunter — 

Charles. But a strange one. — 
But come, sir, will you put me on my way ? 

U?ik. Will you not rather enter my poor cave 
And take it's shelter till the morning breaks ? 
'Twill not be long. 

Charles. 1 cannot lose a moment 
In selfish rest, while those who love me suffer. 

Unk. Give me your hand then. I'm your friend. 

Charles. I thank you. 
'Tis the first cordial grasp I've had from man. 

Unk. Poor youth ! But hold — Give me your 
solemn promise 
To keep this meeting secret. 

Charles. 1 hate secrets ; 
Lovers alone should have them, 

Ufik. There are reasons ; — 
I cannot now disclose them — solemn reasons.— 
I do implore you — 

Charles. Sir, be satisfied ; 
I'll not reveal it. 

Unk. Nor allude to it. 
However press'd — Nor give the darkest hint 
That such a man as I exist ! 

Charles. I promise. 

Unk. I'm satisfied. Your words are from the 
heart. 
Fidelity and truth sit on your brow. 



fAct 2.) SUPERSTITION. SS 

The blush of morn begins to tinge the east ; 
You are not far from home ; you'll soon embrace 
Your mother, Charles. Come, this way lies the path. 

(Exeunt^ l. H.j 



SCENE II. — An open Wood near the cottage of Ra- 
ven sxvorth. Early dawn. 

Enter George Egerton, l. h. 

George. Poor uncle ! little does your wisdom 

dream, 
(Being abed) what ramble I'm upon. 
A hopeful enterprize, this of my uncle's — 
To tame me in a wild wood. Ay, and then 
His bug-bear stories of the laws — confound 'em, 
Last night they spoil'd the sweetest vision for me ; 
Methought I saw this beauteous puritan, 
The parson's daughter ; well, I woo'd and won — 
A thing of course — But going to embrace her, 
I hugg'd — my pillow, think you ? no ; a pillorv ! 
Well: I'm resolved in spite of dream and omen, 
To see her, if I can, before we go. 
I've three hours, good ; and three hours may do 

much. — 
By Vulcan, the intruding and lame God, 
My uncle limpmg this wi\y ! Gout confound him. 
A royal oak ! Bend your umbrageous branches. 
And saving me, be twice immortalized. 

( Conceals himself in a tree. J 

Enter Sir Reginald, l. h. 

» 

Sir R. S'blood ! the young rebel, what a march 
he's led me ! 
Tortur'd too, all the route, like a poor prisoner 
By my own natural enemy the gout. 



24 SUPERSTITION. (BarkerJ 

The worst of 't is I cannot find the rascal, 
I've been around the house ; And Td ha' sworn 
That was his mark. If I but catch him--Hey ! 

Enter Mary, r. h. 

A pretty girl — I'faith, a pretty girl ! 

I'll speak to her, I will ; there's no one near — 

Hem ! Save you lady. — 

Mary. flVho is anxiously looking another way. J 
Would you aught with me, sir ! 

Sir R. Aught t Yes, egad : a very pretty girl— • 
My dear, I — that is — 

George. So, so, my grave uncle.-— 

Sir R. I meant to say — 'tis somewhat early, child, 
For youth like yours — She's beautiful by gad : — 
To leave your downy slumbers — 

George. Poetry ! 

3fary. It is my custom, sir — But age like yours 
May suffer from the chill air of the morning. 

George. A brave girl, faith : 

Mary, f Aside. J 'Tis one of those strange per- 
sons. 
My father spoke of — would that he would go. 

Sir R. Why, as you say, my dear, — that is — in 
fact — 

George. Nay, charge again, brave cavalier. 

Sir R. In truth then, 
My errand here so early, was to seek 
A runagate nephew. 

George. Meaning me. — 

Sir R. A rascal ! 
Pray lady have you met him. 

Mary. Sir, I know not 
The person you enquire for. 

Sir R. I'll describe him. 

George. Now for a flattering portrait. 

Sir R. f Aside. J I'll disgust her 
Lest he, perchance, should meet her — He's a fellow 
Of an indifferent person, which his tailor 



CAct2.J SUPERSTITION. 25 

Cannot make handsome ; yet he thinks himself 

The only true Adonis. He has language 

If you can understand it. When he speaks, 

'Tis in a lisp or oath. His gait's between 

A swagger and a dance. His grin's from France, 

His leer from Cyprus. He's a Turk in morals, 

And is of that religion no man knows of: 

In fine, he's as ridiculous as dangerous — 

A mongrel thing ; a slip of the coxcomb, madam, 

Grafted upon the rake. 

Mary. Sir, you describe 
A monster. 

Sir J^. You have hit it; that is he, 
Should he approach you shun him. 

Mary. Sir, I shall. 

George. Here's a kind uncle: but I'll be reveng'd. 
(^SiR Reginald bows and exit .^ l. h.^ 

Mary. He should have come last night : yet here's 
the morning, 
And yet he comes not. He cannot have pass'd me. 
Is it because this is his homeward path 
That I am loitering here ? I fear it ib — 
O, I am most imprudent — most forgetful — 
I fear most sinful. 

George, f Descending.^ and comes down l. h.^ 
Now he's out of sight. 

And now for the encounter — Madam, your slave. 
Nay start not; I am not the monster, lady. 
That gouty person pictur'd. Did you know him 
But half so well as I, you'd not believe him, 
Or did you but know me, but half so well 
As I would have you, and you would believe him 
To be the most transcendant of romancers. 
Bunyan's book, madam, is true history. 
To that he speaks. He was a soldier once, 
But was cashier d for lying. Mandeville, 
The greatest liar of antiquity. 
May be hereafter quoted as authentic. 
When he's believ'd. — And I'm his nephew, too? 

c 



26 SUPERSTITION. (Barker. J 

A pleasant jest : he kept the wild beasts, madam, 
In London, till they turn'd him off for stealing 
The lion's supper — Yet a single moment. 

Mary. What would you sir ? 

George. You see, before you lady. 
The most unfortunate young fellow breathing, 
Banish'd to this strange country for the crime 
Of being too susceptible — and sentenced 
To die a lingering death upon the rack, 
Unless your smile reprieve him. 

Mary. This is strange : 
I do not understand you. 

George. If my words 
Lack meaning lady, look into my eyes. 
And thro' them to my heart, and see enshrin'4 
Your worshipp'd image there — 

Mary. Most wonderful. 
What language is't you speak, sir ? 

George. Ma'am : what language ? 
English, I think. The pretty simpleton! 
Bred in the woods, to her a metaphor 
Is Heathen Greek. Madam those foolish figures 
Are all the mode at court ; and mean, my dear, 
In simple phrase- — 

Mary. I pray sir let me pass — 

George. Not yet my child — 

Mary. Sure 'tis a madman. 

George. True, 
And therefore treat me soothingly and kindly, 
For of all madmen, your mad lover's maddest. 
Do you not fear me ? 

Mary. No. 

George. Why, then you love me. 
Come ; I have seen such clouds before ; they tell 
Of coming sunshine — nay you must not go. — 
I will be monstrous kind to thee, and love thee 
Most constantly — 

Mary. Release me. 

George. Ay, and take thee 



fAct 2 J SUPERSTITION. 27 

To England, child, and make thee there, my dear, 
The envy of thy sex. 

Mary'. If you're a gentleman — 

George. The conscious grove would blush its 
green leaves red, 
Should I give back. 

Marij. Do you not fear the laws ? 

George. Nor law, nor gospel now — Come, come 
'tis folly — 

Mary. O Heav'n : help, help ! 

Enter Charles, r. h. u. e. and comes doxvn to 
centre, 

Charles. Ruffian, unhand the lady ! 

George. So peremptory boy \ 

Charles. Do you delay ; (Throzvs him off.) 

George. Curse on my haste : I have forgot my 
sword. 

Mary. O Charles ! 

Charles. My dearest Mary ; my belov'd ! 

(^Mary, retires up.) 

George. Hum : Is it so ? But s'death ! I mustn't 
bear it. 
Hark ye. Sir. 

Charles. Well Sir. 

George. I shall find a time. — 

Charles. Best make it. 

George. When ? 

Charles. Two hours hence, in the grove 
East of the village. 

George. I shall meet you there. 
But look ye, sir, be punctual : I've engagements. 

Charles. I shall not fail you. 

George. 'Gad, a pretty fellow. 
I'll pink him first, and then I'll patronize him. 

(Exit. L. H.J 

Mary. O Charles! what pass'd between you? 
surely, surely 



28 SUPERSTITION. (Barker.) 

You will not honour him with further notice. 

Charles. Speak not of him — he is not worth a 
thought — 
We can employ our time to better purpose. 
Tell me, have yet the calumnies against me, 
Found shelter here ? 

Mary, You know they have not Charles. 
But I have much to tell you — We must part ! 
Heav'n ! is not that my father ? Oh, it is ! 
He comes this way ; but has not vet descried us — 
Ah ! fly, fly quickly ! 

Charles. Fly ! 

Mary. Yes, if you wish 
That we should ever meet — 

Charles. But shall we meet r 

Mary. That way— behind the trees — O quickly, 
quickly ! f Charles ^oes up. J 

Charles. C From the Grove.) But tell me Mary. 
will you walk this way 
In the evening ? 

Mary. It is impossible ; riiy father 
Forbids my walks. — - 

Charles. Why then, one place remains — 
One only— -I will visit you to-night — 
\^ou do not answer— Shall I ? 

Mary. O begone ! 

CExH Charles, behind the trees^ u. e. l. h. 
Did 1 consent: I fear he'll think I did. 
My .father comes — should he have seen us part! 
Am I the guilty creature that I feel ? 
He*s here — I cannot look him in the face. 

Enter Ravensworth, r. h. looks at' Mary sternly 
for some time. 

Rave. 'Tis well : that air of shame becomes you 
well, 
Is this your dut}^ ? did I not forbid 



CAct 2 J SUPERSTITION. 29 

These lonely walks ? But get you home; anon, 
I'll talk with you. 

Mary. (As she goes out.) He did not see him ! 

Rave. Home. (Exeunt^ l. h.J 



SCENE III. 

All ApartJnent at Isabella's. 
Enter Isabella, m. d. meeting Lucy, l. ii. 

Isa. Speak ; is he yet in sight ? 

Lucy. No, madam. 

Isa. Go, 
O ! go again, good Lucy, and be swift 
When he appears. (Exit Lucy, l. h.J 

i\ly poor, poor boy ! my Charles — 
To be thus treated, and thy gentle heart 
So full of kindness to all living creatures : 
To have thy aspirations after fame. 
Thus rudely scorn'd, thy youthful hopes thus 

blighted ! 
But he deserves it not ; there's comfort yet, 
And he may rise above it. — Not yet come. 
He promis'd, and he would not break his word, 
And to his mother, without serious cause — 
The way is full of peril, and I know 
His temper shuns not danger. Gracious Heav'n I 
If I should lose him — him, the only being — 

Enter Lucy, hastily., L. h. 

Now Lucy, quick ? 

Lucy. Madam he is in sight > 
And flying up the avenue. 

Tsa, Thank Heaven ! 

c 2 



so SUPERSTITION. (Barker.) 

Enter Charles, l. h. 

Charles. Mother! 

Isa. My son. (Falls into his arms.) 

Charles. My ever dearest mother ! 

Jsa. O Charles, how could you thus delay your 
coming ? 
The night was pass'd in watch. 

Charles. I grieve to know it 
I was benighted in the forest, mother, 
And lost my way. 

Isa. Alas ! thou art spent with toil. 

Charles. Not much. 

Isa. Poor Charles : And so they have expell'd 
thee — 
Expell'd ! 

Charles. Nay, pry' thee let us forget it. 

Isa. Wretches ! 
I could have borne all else — but to disgrace thee — 
To spurn thee from them — thee ! I could endure 
The daily persecutions that assail me 
With patience and with firmness — But I have thee 
Come, let us in : you need rest and refreshment. 
You shall not leave me soon again my son — 
T am a child without you. 

Charles^ (Aside.) My poor mother. 

Isa. But, let us in — 

Charles. I'll follow you, my mother. 
I will but give an order. (Exit^ Isabella, m. d.^ 
Edward. 

Enter Edward, r. h. 

Edw. Sir. 

Charles. Go, get my rapier ready, wrap it close. 
And some hour hence, not later, choose a time. 
And speed with it to the wood, east of the village. 
There wait my coming. 

Edw, Yes sir. 



(Act 2.) SUPERSTITION. 31 

Charles. But be sure 
That no one see it. 

Ediv. I'll be careful, sir. 

(Exit Edward, r. H.y 

Enter Isabella, m. d. 

Isa. Fye sir ; is this your breeding ? must I wait : 
Charles. Forgive me madam , I am ready now. 

f Exeunt., m. t>.) 



END or ACT ii 



32 SUPERSTITION. (BarkerJ 

ACT III. 

SCENE I.—^/i ope?i Wood, 

Enter Charles, r. b.. followed bi/ Edward. 

Charles. Give me the sword j remain at the edge 
of the wood ; 
If any one approach, haste to inform me. 

f Exit Ebward, r. n.) 
1 am here first, 'tis well. My mother thinks 
It is a softer interview I seek ; 
And while she cautioned me, her sad smile seem'd 
To sanction what she fearM. My dear, kind mother. 
And should I fall — well : it would be my fate 
We are but barques upon the sea of life, 
And when the storm is up, we greet the port, 
Or meet the rock, as destiny determines, 
Spite of our feeble efforts. Mary too! 
These thoughts are not in season. Here's my man. 

Enter George Egerton, l. h. hastily. 

Well met sir. 

George. Sir, I kiss your hands. I'faith, 
I've had a race to get here. My wise uncle 
Hung round me like a bride in the first month — 
Or, rather like a wife in the second year, 
When jealousy commences. — Come on, sir. 

Charles. Best breathe awhile ; I have the advan- 
tage of you. 

George. You will not keep it long. My greater 
skill 
Will give me still the odds. 

Charles. It may be so, 
Yet you may be cleceived. My masters flatter'd 
Or I, too, have some science* 



(Act 3.) SUPERSTITION. 33 

George. I'm glad of it ; 
For you're a pretty fellow, and deserve 
To fall with credit. Come, sir, to your guard. 
We shall be interrupted. 

Charles. Better so, 
Than that we fight unfairly. You pant still, sir. 

George. You are a soul of honour, and, were't 
possible — 
But no; the person of an Egerton 
Must never be profan'd. Come Sir, en giiarde. 

Charles. If you will have it so. 

George. I wilL 

Charles, Come on then. 

{they fight. George is xvounded.) 

George. I'm pink'd egad; who would have thought 
it? S'death! 
I'm out of practice. 

Charles, Here Sir, on this bank, 
Your head against this tree. — Your wound's not 

deep 
I hope. How feel you now ? 

George. I'faith, but faintly. 

Enter Edward r. h. 

Edw, There is a gentleman approaching Sir. 

George. It is my uncle, like a keen old sportsman, 
In at the death. Pry'thee begone my friend, 
'Tvvere well you were not known. 

Charles. This handkerchief — 
So, press it close — I'll haste to send you aid. — 
But for the lady's fame, and your own honour. 
The cause of this our meeting is a secret. 

George. It shall be so: I thank you. But awayl- 

{Exeunt Charles ^tz^ Edward, l. h.) 
That's a fine lad. But where i' the devil's name, 
L»earn'd he to fence ? I wonder, now I think on't, 
Who'll write my epitaph. My uncle can't, 
He has no genius. I would do't myself j 



34 SUPERSTITION. (Barker.) 

Had I an amanuensis: let me see — 
Hie jacet — (faints.) 

Enter Sir Reginald, r. h. 

Sir R. Gracious Heav'n, what is this ! 
My nephew bleeding, dead! no, he but faints, 
With loss of blood. Soft, he revives; why nephew— 
My poor mad George, how fares it? 

George. How d'ye uncle? 
Is't day or night ? Faith my eyes twinkle strangely. 

Sir R. Cheerly, George, Cheerly, we'll do well 
enough, — 
What shall I do ? — But how came this about ? 
Was't fairly done. 

George^ According to the rules. 
Should I die, uncle, and my adversary 
E'er be discover'd, testify for him — 
He kill'd me like a gentleman and christian. 

Sir R. A duel ! ah George, George. But zounds ! 
do the roundheads 
Fight duels too ! a pretty school I've chosen 
To teach you prudence in ! will no one come ! 

Enter Two Men, with a Bier, l. h. 

Ah, you are welcome, set it down: so, so. 
George. A pretty ominous conveyance, this. 
Sir R. I pry'thee hold thy peace, and get thee in. 
George. A grainof opium now, were worth a jewel, 
Uncle, I'll never fight again without it. 

Sir R. Be quiet George — you waste your strength. 
So, so. 

( The men take him up and are about moving.) 
George. Head foremost if you please, my worthy 
friends; 
'Tis but fair play — heels first perhaps, to-morrow. 

(The men carry him afexv paces.) 
Halt, if it please ye, gentlemen, one moment. 



(Act 3.) SUPERSTITION. 35 

Two hobbles more and I'm defunct. — Pray general 
Drill those recruits to the step. In camp, now uncle, 
It were a pleasure to be carried out. 

Sir R. Wilt hold thy peace then ? 

George. Yes. — The left foot, uncle — 

Sir R. Now gentlemen, at the word " march" 
lift up 
The left foot each of you, and so move on. 

George. Right uncle. 

Sir R. Hold your tongue. March ! 
^ George. Ay ; so, so. 

(Exeunt l. h.) 



SCENE ll.^The Village. 

Enter Charles <3n^ Edward, l. h. 

Charles. Can it be true ! the savages so near ? 
Edzv. It is so said. 
Charles. Edward do you return, 
And see the unfortunate gentleman I wounded 
Placed in security. I'll hasten home. 

{Exit Edward, l. h.) 
My first care is my mother — then for Mary ! 

{Exit Charles, r. h.) 

Enter Walford, l. h. meeting Alice, r. h. 

Waif. Whence this alarm ? 

Alice. O father, we are lost. 
A hunter has come in nigh dead with speed, 
With tidings that the savages are coming. 

Waif. How near ? 

Alice. Alas ! a few miles from the village, 

Waif. Is't possible ! can they have thus eluded 
Our watchful troops ! we must prepare — O welcome ? 



\ 

36 SUPERSTITION. (Barker.) 

Enter Ravensworth, l. h. 

Heard you the fearful tidings, Ravensworth ? 

Rave. I have, and will you now believe, our sins 
Bring these afflictions on us ? We have murderers 
Lurking among us. 

Waif. How! 

Rave. This moment pass'd me 
The relative of the Knight, Sir Reginald ; 
Dying, or dead. 

Waif, Whose was the act ? 

Rave. Whose was't ? 
The act of him, whose every act is crime. 
The son of this dark woman. 

Waif. How is it known? 

Rave. His sword and handkerchief stain*d both 
with blood, [wood. 

And mark'd with his vile name, were found in the 
He has not been one day yet in the village, 
And lo ! these visitations. On the instant 
He must be dealt with. 

Waif. First for our defence— 
What do you counsel f 

Rave. Prayer and sacrifice. 

Waif 'Tis too late now, we must take other means. 

The Villagers Enter., r. h. exhibiting signs of 
xvild affright. 

Waif Hark ye, my friend, have messengers been 
sent 
To warn the scatter'd settlers round ? 

1st Villa. Thev have. 

Waif Why rings not the alarum bell ! 

1st Villa. I know not. 
Unless the exposed position of the church — 

Waif Go, some of you and do it.- — Hasten, friends, 
Seize every man his arms. 

(Exeunt Villagers, r. h.) 



(-Acts.) SUPERSTITION. 37 

Rave. Behold where comes 
In all her pride, one of the moving causes 
Of all this horror — mark with what an air, 
How tranquil and coitiposM she looks around 
Upon the growing evil — safe, 'midst the fury 
Of her own tempest. 

As he speaks ; Enter Isabella, r. h. the women 
shrink from her in fear. Alice gazes upon her 
with interest; Ravensworthj^^c^^ his eyes sternly 
upon her. She remains unmoved. 

Waif. Ravens worth, forbear. 
Is this a time. — 

Enter 2d Villager, r. h. 

Now friend what news have you ? 
2fl^ Villa. They have begun to issue from the 
wood. — 

Enter Sir Reginald, r. h. 

Sir R. What is this I hear? the savages ap- 
proaching ! 
Now plague upon this gout ! — But I've an arm left 
That yet can wield a sword. 

Waif. Your nephew Sir, 
May need your care. You're strange to our wild 
warfare. 
Sir R. True ; I'd forgot poor George. They'll 
cut thro' me, 
Before they get a hair of him. (Retires^ l. h. u. e.^ 

Re-Enter \st Villager, r. h. 

Waif How now ? 

\st Villa. We've rallied at the church ; but want 
a leader. 

D 



38 SUPERSTITION. C^arkenJ 

Waif. You shall not want one longer. • 

Alice. O, my father ! [low me. 

Waif. Heav'n bless you my dear daughter. Fol- 
fExit W AhioRB^ followed by Villagers, r. h. s. e. 
Dista?it Tell. The alarm bell rings., a few distant 
and straggling shot heard. Houses at a distance 
beginning to blaze., a pause of the bell.) 

Rave. Now, where's your son ? 

Isa. Gone Sir, to save your daughter. 

Rave. My daughter ! I'd forget — Is she not here 
(Runs xvildly around* Bell Rings, The shot are 
nearer and more frequent. The blaze increases.) 

Rave. My daughter ! where, O where's my daugh- 
ter ! 

£7iter Charles bearing Mary. r. h. 

Charles. There Sir. 
CRavensworth receives her, and for a tnoment yields 
to his paternal feeling. But instantly withdraxvs 
from Charles with a scoxvl. Charles after affec^ 
tionately recognizing his mother., rushes out, r. h. 
Alice joins Mary ; who is prevented from address- 
ing Isabella, by her father^s frown. Isabella 
maintains her dignity and composure. Alarm coil' 
tinues, shouts, yells, Ssfc.) 

The Villagers enter in disorder, folloxved by 
Charles and^^ aljorh. r. h. s. e. 

Charles. One effort more 

Waif It is impossible, 
Panic has seiz'd them all and we must perish. 
(The bell has ceased. A dreadful yell. The Vil- 
lagers turn and are about to fly in despair, when) 

Enter f/ze Unknown, r. h. u. e. 

Unk. Turn back for shame — as ye are men, turn 
back ' 



CAct 3 J SUPERSTITION. 39 

As ye are husbands, fathers, turn, and save 
From death and violation those ye love. — 
If this not move you, as ye are christian men 
And do believe in God, tempt not his wrath 
By doubting thus his providence. Behold 
I am sent to save you. 

Omnes. Save us, save us. 

Waif, Say, 
What shall we do ; we're ready to obey thee. 

Unk, Front then and bear yourselves like men — 
'Tis well. 
The savage sees us rally ; and the pause 
His caution grants, secures us the advantage. 
fHe passes rapidly along the line^ dividing them into 
three bodies. Then addresses Walford and Charles. J 
This band be yours — this yours — Quick, lead them 

forth. 
And each by a rapid circuit, turn the foe 
By either flank. This will I lead myself 
Against his front — holding him thus in check 
Until I hear the horn sound your arrival — 
Then while perplex'd he hesitates between us, 
Rush to the onset all — close on the heathen, 
And shower destruction on him — haste, away. 

f Exeunt Unknown, r. h. s. e. Walford and 
Charles, l. h. u. e. leading their bands. J 

Isa. How awful is this pause, that but precedes 
The shock that may o'erwhelm us. God, to thee, 
The mother turns. Not for myself, 
Not for my sinful self — but for my son — 
My innocent son I plead. Cut him not off 
In the blossom of his days. 

Rave. Mark, if the hag 
Mutter not, even now, her incantations. 

(Afexv scattering shot heard. J 
The fronts have met, and from the forest coverts, 
Exchange their cautious fire. 

fA bugle sounds.^ answered by another from a differ- 
ent quarter. Shouts., Tells., a general and continued 
discharge of musketry. Shouts and bugles. 



1 



40 SUPERSTITION. ^^arfe^rrj 

Rave, The crisis has arrived — the fire has ceased, 
And now the closer work of death commences. 
Ascend yon tree, and say what thou observest. 

rTo a hoy^ who ascends the tree^ l. h.J 
Boy. I see them now. The indians stand dismay'd. 
W^'re pouring now upon them from the forest, 
From every side. — Now, now the Indians turn — 
They meet — they close — they're struggling man to 

man. 
Sword, knife and tomakawk are glancing. 

Isa. Heaven ! 
Protect, protect my Charles : 

Alice. Save my dear father. (Shout.) 

Rave. What shout is that ? Hear ye the savage 

yell ? 
Boy. No, no, 'twas ours — we've conquer' d — and 
they come, 
Dragging their prisoners with them. Here's my 
father. 

Enter 1st Villager shouting " Victory," meets and 
caresses the boy. r. h. u. e. 

General Shout., Bugles. Enter Walford, Charles, 
Villagers, with Indian Prisoners, r. h. u. e. 
They arrange themselves on each side ; the Indians 
in the back ground. Charles^^^* to his mother., 
•who sinks on her knees in his embrace. Alice 
joins her father., various groups formed. Mary 
manifests much interest for Charles, xvho regards 
her tenderly. Ravensworth preserves his sus- 
picious and reserved demeanour. 

Enter the Unknown, r. h. u. e. 

He passes down the centre. All gaze on him with 
awe., and stretch forth their hands toxvards him^ 
bending their bodies. 
Unk, No : not to me this homage — not to man 



(Act 3.) SUPERSTITION. 41 

Is your this day's deliverance owing. There — 
To heaven address your gratitude. To God 
Stretch forth your hands and raise your swimming 

eyes. 
Before Jehovah bend your bodies down, 
And from your humble hearts pour out the flood 
Of thankfulness. It was his care that watch'd 
His eye that saw ; his arm that smote the heathen— 
His be the praise and glory. 
All bend in adoration. TAe Unknown easts a glance 

at Isabella, and exclaims as he goes outy 
Yes ; 'tis she fExit Unknown, r. h. u. e.J 

After a short pause^ they raise their heads and look 

around anxiously for the Unknown. 

Enter Sir Reginald, r. h. u. e. 

Waif, Has this thing been ? Where is he ? did he 
pass you ? 

Sir R. Whof 

Waif Our mysterious leader — 

Sir R. I saw him not 

Waif VVas't an earthly being I 

Alice. O my father ! 
It was not mortal. 

Charles. In the fight his arm. 
Like the fierce lightning wither'd where it fell. 

Sir R. You speak of wonders ! 

Ra'ue. Woman, what think you — - 
Was it an angel — or a fiend ? 

Waf. What mean you ? 
(Isabella tur lis from him proudly. Charles represser 
his anger on exchanging glances with Alary. 

Rave. You'll know anon, Walfv)rd, you bleed. 

C Crosses to Walford. ) 

Waif Atx\?iQ. 

Rave. He does not bleed — 

Waif I think not ; vrt he dar'd 
The thickest of the fight. 
d2 



42 SUPERSTITION. f^^rfe^rj 

Rave, Can you not see ? 
Do you not mark ? 

Waif. Your meaning is most dark. 

Rave. The murkiest night must fly before the day; 
Illusion, strong as Hell must yield to Truth. 
You understand me not — No matter — come— 
Let these vile heathens be securely plac'd 
To await their certain death — then to the temple — 
There, to the Throne of Mercy to present 
Our sacrifice of prayer and of thanksgiving. 

(Exeunty Charles an^ Isabella, r.h. others l. h.) 



END OF ACT IIIc 



CAct4.) SUPERSTITION. 43 

ACT IV. 

SCENE I.* — Before the house (?/ Ravens worth. 

Enter Ravensworth from the housey l. h. 7neetmg 
Walford, r. h. 

Rave. You come in happy time ; I would have 
sought you 
Walford, my soul is sick, even to death, 
To look upon the miseries, our sins 
Bring down upon us. But I am resolved ; — 
This day's events at length have steel'd my heart 
Against the accursed cause ; who must not longer 
Pollute, unquestioned thus, our wholesome air. 

Waif. You know the cause then ? 

Rave. Who can know this woman, 
This Isabella, and be ignorant ! 
But she must answer it — the time is come ; 
She and her son must answer for their deeds. 
And since my letters to the government 
Have fail'd to bring their aid — ourselves, my friend, 
Must call them to the judgment seat. 

Wal. Not so ; 
Your efforts have been crown'd with sad success. 
Commissioners have- even now arriv'd. — 
I came to let you know it. 

Rave. Thanks my friend 
You make me happy. 

Wal. Happy, Ravensworth ! 

Rave. And should I not rejoice that guilt like 
theirs 
Should cease to spread its poison thro' the land ? 

Waif Where shall we find the evidence of guilt? 

Rave. The trial shall produce it, doubt it not t^ 
Meantime, methinks the general belief 

* This scene was- omitted in the representation. 



44 SUPERSTITION. C^^f^^r.J 

In their dark crimes ; the universal horror 
Inspir'd e'en by their presence — as if nature 
Shudder'd instinctively at what was monstrous, 
And hostile to its laws, were, of themselves^ 
A ground to rest the charge on> 

IValf. Ah, my friend 
If reason in a mind like yours, so form'd, 
So fortified by knowledge, can bow down 
Before the popular breath, what shall protect 
From the all-with'ring blasts of superstition. 
The unthinking crowd, rn whom credulity, 
Is ever the first born of ignorance ? 

Rave. Walford, what meanest thou by supersti- 
tion ! 
Is there in our religion aught forbidding 
Belief in sorcery ! Look thro' this land, 
Or turn thine eyes abroad — are not the men 
Most eminent for piety and knowledge — 
The shining lights of a benighted age, 
Are they not, too, believers ? 

Waif. There have been. 
In every age, among the learn'd, divines. 
Statesmen, philosophers, astronomers, 
Who have upheld with much ability. 
The errors they belie v'd in. Abstract points 
In science, may be safely tolerated, 
Altho' erroneous — But there may be doctrines, 
So fatal in their influence, that, until 
Their truth is manifest, 'twere well not cast them. 
With lavish hand, among the multitude. 

Rave. And is not sorcery manifest as day ? 
Have not our senses testified unto it ? 

Waif. We have heard infant witnes&es aver it, 
And seen them while they seem'd to suffer it; 
We have heard wretches m despair confess it. 
And have seen helpless creatures perish for itj. 
And yet — 

Rave. What yet ? 

Waif. O Ravensworth ! these things 



CAct 4.) SUPERSTITION. 4^ 

Have happened : on a day of gloom and terror, 
When but to dou!)t was danger, to deny, death ; 
When childish petulance, e*en idiocy, 
Were gravely listened to, when mere suspicion, 
Could, with a hint destroy, and coward malice, 
With whispers, reached at life ; when frenzy's flame. 
Like fire in tow, ran thro' the minds of men, 
Fann'd by the breath of those in highest places. 
E'en from the bench, yea, from the sacred desk. 

JRave. Hold Walford, I have held thee as my 
friend. 
For many years, beware — 

Waif. I know thy power 
Over the multitude, but fear it not. 
I have discharged my duty, fare thee well. 

jRave. Stay, Walford, thou art honest, but mis- 
taken. 
We will dispute no more. But tell me friend. 
Have the commissioners enquired for me ? 

Waif. They have. Before they enter on their 
duties. 
They'd have thy counsel. 

Rave. They shall have it straight, 
I'll go to them at once. 'Tis almost night- 
There is no hour to lose. I pray thee, Walford, 
As I may haply, be detain'd abroad. 
Let thy good Alice stay here with my daughter 
Till my return. 

Waif. Most willingly. I'll haste, 
And bring her hither. 

Rave, Nay, we'll go together. (Exeunt^ l. h.J 



SCENE II. — An Apartment at Isabella's, 

Enter Isabella and Charles, r. h. 

Isa. Ungrateful people ! 
Charles. Had they not presum'd 



46 SUPERSTITION. f5«r>^frj 

To cloud your clear name with their viperous breath, 
I could forgive them. 'Twas not for the herd 
I drew my sword. 

Isa, Unthankful wretches ; what ! 
Upon the very act that saved their lives, 
To found a charge that mtght endanger thine ! 

Charles: 'Tis even so: I am in league, it seems, 
With fiends, so say their worships ; and the stranger. 
Is no less, than the prince of fiends.himself. 
Nothing is too ridiculous for those 
Whom bigotry has brutaliz'd, I laugh 
At their most monstrous folly. 

Isa^ But such folly. 
When it infects the crowd, is dangerous. 
Already we've had proof what dreadful acts 
Their madness may commit, and each new day 
The frenzy spreads. We are suspected too— • 
Then your imprudent duel — O my son. 
We must remove from hence. 

Charles. Remove, from hence ? 

Isa. Yes ; ere the monsters catch us in the toils 
They are preparing. 

Charles. Mother, you were wont 
To bear a mind whose firmness could resist 
Your sexes common weaknesses ! 

Isa. I know not 
How it is Charles, but dark and sad forebodings 
Hang o'er my subdued spirit ; and I tremble 
E'en for thy life. 

Charles. Banish those thoughts, my mother. 

Isa. I try, but cannot. — Yes; we will hence ; my 
son. 
Tho' on the verge, perhaps, of that discovery 
The hope of which has held me here so long, 
We will begone to-morrow. 

Charles. So soon, mother ? 

Isa. You do not wish it. Charles, a mother's eye 
Can penetrate the heart. The gentle Mary — 
She will be left behind — is it not so ? 



(Act 40 SUPERSTITION. 47 

But this is boyish, you are yet too young 
To entertain such fantasies — and then, 
You know her father — sadder still my son ; 
Well, we'll not cross the ocean — we'll but seek 
The nearest spot that is inhabited 
By rational beings. And besides, your youth 
Will wear a year or two. How say you Charles, 
Are you contented ? 

Charles. You're the best of mothers. 
And were my heart strings fasten'd to the spot, 
I'd with you, tho' they sunder'd. But you spoke 
A moment since, of some discovery 
You were near making : what discovery ? 

Jsa. It was an inadvertence — 

Charles. Must I never 
Hope to enjoy; your confidence t 

Is a. Notrjow— 
Another time my son. 

Charles. Another time — 
'Tis ever thus you put my questions by. 
Rather forbid me e'er again to ask 
Of what so much concerns me, and I promise 
However hard the task, I will obey you. 
I trust you have ne'er found me disobedient ! 

Isa. You have been all a mother's heart could 
wish. 
You ask but what you have a right to ask, 
And I have always purpos'd a fit time — 
When that your age were ripe enough — 

Charles. Well mother, 
Has not that time arrived ? 

Isa. Your age, dear Charles, 
Has scarce reach'd manhood yet. 'Tis true, your 

courage. 
Your conduct amidst danger — manly virtues, — 
Are well approv'd. Your judgment too — so much, 
A mother may believe and say — is far 
Beyond the years you count. But there's a quality ; 
A virtue it may be, which is the growth 



48 SUPERSTITION. (Barker,) 

Only of minds well disciplined ; which looks 

On human actions with a liberal eye. 

That knows the weakness of the human heart, 

Because it feels it ; and will not condemn 

In others, what itself is conscious of — 

That will not with the tyrant prejudice, 

Without allowance or extenuation, 

Yea, without hearing pass its dreadful sentence. 

Charles. And am I such a one t thanks to my 
nature, 
Which I feel is not quite so vile. My breeding, 
Which has been liberal. Nay thanks to those 
Who daily here exhibit its deformity, 
I scorn this moqster prejudice. 

Is a. And yet-^ 
Should you — I could not live if you should hate me. 

Charles, Hate you, my mother. Hadnot all your 
actions 
Been, as I've seen them, noble ; all your precepts 
As I have ever found them, full of goodness. 
Could I recall the tenderness you've shewn 
Towards me, and cease to love you. — Never, never ! 
All crimes however great, dwindle to atoms 
Near filial ingratitude : the* heart 
That is that monster's throne, ne'er knew a virtue. 

Isa. Ah ! how shall I commence ! — What would 
you know. 

Charles, Why you left England ? Why in this 
wilderness. 
Amidst a race that scorn, that shun and loathe us, 
You linger out existence ? Chiefly mother ; 
Who is my father ? (taking her hand) 

Isa. Ah ! (turnijig- away J 

Charles, In our own England, 
At school, among my frank and laughing mates, 
When they have put this question, it was done 
In merry mood, and 1 could bear it — well — 
Although I could not answer it ; but here, 
O mother to these cold and selfish beings, 



(Act4»,) SUPERSTITION. 49 

Their smooth tongues dipp'd in bitterness, their eyes 
Scowling suspicion — what can I reply ? 

Isa. Poor boy, poor boy ! Well Charles, the time 
is come 
And if my spirits fail not — you shall know all. 
Your father — but I cannot, no, I cannot 
Commence my story there. — I was left, Charles, 
Without a parent's care, just at that age 
That needs it most. I had ne'er known my mother, 
And was scarce fifteen when my father's fate 
Forc'd him to abandon child and home and country; 
For he had been a patriot, as he deemed it. 
Or, as his destiny decreed, a traitor. — 
He fled to this new world. 

Charles. Does he yet live ? 

Isa, Alas ! I know not, rumours came to England 
That he survived. It was to find my father. 
And on my knees implore his benediction j — 
Haply, should he forgive, to minister 
Unto his ages comfort — I came hither. 

Charles. 'Tis strange, if living, he should seek 
concealment. 
After the general amnesty. 

Isa. O ! Charles ; 
He was excepted in that act of mercy : 
He had done that, the king might never pardon. 

Charles. Unhappy man I 

Isa. Most true. — But let me haste 
To close my dark recital. I was plac'd 
In charge of a kinsman — a perfidious villain 
Wliose avarice sold, betray'd rne. — O my son. 
It is not fit thy ears should hear the tale. 
And from my lips. I wept, implor'd, resisted — 
Riches and pleasure tempted me in vain 
Coupled with shame. But hellish craft at length 
Triumph'd o'er credulous vanity — The altar 
Was made the scene of sacrilegious mockerv, 
The holy vestments of the priest, became 
A profane masking habit — . 

E 



50 SUPERSTITION. (Barker.) 

Charles, Power of Justice ! 
Could you behold this and forbear to strike ? 

Isa. The illusion vanish'd, and I fled^ I fled 
In horror and in madness. 
Charles. Dreadful, dreadful ! 
Isa. It was thy birth that sav'd me from destruc- 
tion — 
I had thee to live for, and I liv'd ; deep hid 
In solitude, under an assum'd name, 
Thou wer't rear'd, Charles, amidst thy mother's 
tears. 
Charles. An assum'd name — in solitude — 
Shame, shame ! 
Why not unmask the villain to the world, 
And boldly challenge what was yours ? 
Isa. His rank — 

Charles. No rank should shield injustice. Quick, 
inform me 
Who was the wretch ? Give me the villain's name- 
Isa. He was thy father Charles. 
Charles. In the sight of Heaven 
I here disclaim and curse — 

Isa. Forbear, forbear — 
Or curse me too — 

Charles. His name, his name — 
Isa. You will destroy me ! 

(She falls into his arms.) 
Charles. What have I done ? I will be calm — for-: 
give me. 

Enter Lucy, l. h. 

Lucy. A person from the village madam, asks 
To be admitted to your presence. 

Isa. How ! 
Does he declare his business ? 

Lacy. He declines it, 
Until he see yourself. 

Isa. Admit him Lucy. fExit Lucy, l. h.J 



fAct4.) SUPERSTITION. Si 

Charles. Madam you tremble still, let me support 

you. 
Isab. No ; I must learn to overcome this weakness. 

Efiter Messenger, l. h. 

Now Sir, I'm she you ask for — to your business. 

Mess. My business is with both. You Isabella 
And Charles, surnam'd Fitzroy, are cited both, 
By a commission of the government, 
To attend them at their session on the morrow. 
At nine in the morning. 

Charles. And to what purpose. 

Mess. That 
You'll learn from them, farewell. 

(Exit Messenger, l. u.j 

Charles. Why farewell, gravity. 

Isa. What can this mean ? 

Charles. They do not know themselves. 

Jsa. I fear I've been too tardy. 

Charles. Nay, 'tis nothing. 
To question us, perhaps, upon our means. 
And pack us from the parish, nothing more. 
But, madam you were interrupted, ere 
I learn'd the name — 

Jsa. Not at this moment, Charles. 

Charles. Well then, enough of sorrow for to day.— 
I will return anon, and laugh with you 
At the absurdities of these strange people. 
At supper we'll discuss our plans for the future. 
We may be happy yet. — 

Isa. But whither go you ? 

Charles. I ought to visit him I wounded, madam, 
And perhaps I may gather in the village, 
Something that may concern us — and perhaps — 

Isa. Well do not be long absent ; it is night. 

Charles, I will not madam : I shall soon return. 

(Exit Charles, l. h.J 



52 SUPERSTITION. (Barker.J 

Isa. He does not feel the danger, his frank spirit, 
His careless youth, disdains it. We must fly. — 

Enter Lucy, l. h. 

Bid Edward, with all speed, prepare the horses, 
Then follow to my chamber. We must prepare 
In all haste, for a journey — 

Lucy. Madam, a journey — 
To-night ? 

Isa. To-night: it is most necessary. So, bid Ed- 
ward 
Be secret. 

Lucy. He is here. 

Edxv» (Within, l. h.J You cannot pass. 

Enter Edward, l. h. 

Isa. What noise is this ? 
Edw. Madam, in spite of me 
They press into your presence.^ 
Isa, We are lost ! 

Enter several Officers, l. h. 

1st Officer. For that we do we have sufficient war- 
rant. 

Isa. What means this rudeness ? 

\st Officer. Answer ; where's your son ? 

Isa. He is not in the house. 

1st Officer. (To attendants xvho go out.) Go you, 
make search. 

Isa. Again I ask, what is your business here ? 

\st Officer. Read (hands tier a paper.) ■ [us ! 

Isa. Gracious Heav'n ! Is this the charge agains-t 
But why this second visit ! we are cited 
To answer in the morning. * 

Xst Officer. But the judges 



(-Act 4 J SUPERSTITION. S3. 

Have chang'd their mind. Your chamber is your 

prison 
'Till you are sent for. We'll attend you thither. 

Isa. But one word with my servant — 

1st Officer. Not one word ; 
It is forbidden, come — 

Isa. My son, my son I (she exchanges significant 
looks with Lucy, and Exit guardedy r. h. s. e.) 

Lucy. I understand (going.) 

2nd Officer. And so do we — our duty. 
You are not to stir hence, nor hold discourse 
One with another. Lead them in — away. 
(Officers lead off^ Lucy, r. h. s. e. and Edward, 

C^. B.) 



SCENE III. — Before the house of Ravensworth. 

Enter Mary from house. 

He does not come. I do not wish it, sure— 
At least I ought not. But h;\s he forgotten ? — 
That is impossible. — Perhaps he fears — 

no !' Charles never fears — should he not come— 

1 ought to hope he could not — ah ! a figure. 
Stealing between the trees — should it be he : 
But may it not be a stranger f ah, let me fly : 

(Exit^ into the house, L. h.) 

Enter Charles cautiously, r. h. 

"Twas she, her white robe, emblem of her innocence^ 
Dispels the darkness of the libertiije night, 
And all around her^s purity and brightne?55. 
She is alone. As I pass'd thro' the village 
I learnM her father was in council there. — 
She is alone and unprot cted quite — 
She loves me and confides in me — be that, 
Tho' passion mount to madness, her protection, 
e 2 



54 SUPERSTITION. fBarkerJ 

The door is fasten^, right ; a common guest 
Comes by a common passage — there are posterns 
And wickets for the lover. Let me try. 

(Exit behind the house ^ r. yl.) 



SCENE IV. — A chamber : a windoxv in the fat : a 
light burning' near the windoxv, 

Mary discovered^ a book in her hand, 

I cannot read, — my thoughts are all confusion, 

If it be he, will he not think the light 

Was plac'd designedly. I will remove it. 

(Goes towards the window^ starts on Charles aj&- 

pearing at it.) 

Charles. Be not alarm'd, my Mary : it is I. 

Mary. O Charles, how could you ? — 

Charles. How could I refrain 
When that the beacon light so fairly blaz'd, 
From steering to this haven. 

Mary. There ! I fear'd 
You would presume to think — • 

Charles. But 1 think nothing — 
Presume, know nothing, but that thou, my Mary, 
Art the divinest creature on the earth 
And I the happiest — O my best, my dearest, 
That thou might'st live forever near this heart ; 
And why not there forever ! What prevents it, 
What can — what shall ? My beauteous, my beloved* 

Mary. No moie ; 
This warmth alarms me — hear me Charles — 
I've given to thee my heart and maiden vow, 
O, be content — and — leave me- — 

Charles. Leave thee ! Love. 

Mary. Before you te^ch me to despise myself ;, 
Ere you yourself despise me. 

Charles, Have I, Mary, 



fAct4>J SUPERSTITION. SS 

Have I deservM that from thee ? Lo, I'm calm — 
And, gaze upon thee as the pilgrim looks 
Upon the shrine he kneels at ; the pure stars 
Look not on angels with a holier light. 

Mary. I do believe you, Charles — But O this^ 
meeting, 
So rash, so — 

Charles. 'Twas presumptuous in me, Marj^, 
I do confess it. 

Mary Still you mistake me, Charles. 
I do not say, I did not wish you here — 
Yet I must wish you gone. It is so wrong — - 
I am so much to blame — 

Charles. I will not stay. 
To give you pain. 

Mary. Btit do not go in anger— 

Charles. Anger ! at you ! 

Mary. A happier time will come — 
Each moment now is full of peril Charles ; 
My father may return, and should he find you !— 

Charles. One word and I will leave you. You 
will hear, 
To morrow, that we*ve left this place for ever. 

Mary. How Charleys ! 

Charles. My mother has resolv'd to fly 
The persecutions that surround her here 
And we depart to-morrow — if we may — 
For w^e're already cited — 

Mary. Heav'ns ! for what ? 

Charles. It can be nothing surely. But dear Mary 
Tho' absent, ah remember there is one 
Who lives for you alone. 

Mary. Charles, can you doubt it ? 

Charles. And should there, Mary, should there 
come an hour 
Propitious to our loves ; secure and safe — 
Suspicion dead, her eye, nor ear to mark us.— 
And should the lover that adores you, Mary, 
Appear at that blest hour, with certain means- 



56 SUPERSTITION. (Barker:) 

To bear you far from cruelty and slavery. 

To love and happiness j 

Mary. No more, no more— 

Charles, Would you consent? 

Mary. O tempt me not to sin — 
'Twould break my father's heart — 

Charles. Give me your promise. 

Enter Ravensworth, Walford, Alice, r. n. 

Mary. C Observing her father.) 
Unhand me, oh unhand me — Father, father ! 

(Faints in Charles^ arms.) 

Rave. Thy father's here to save thee, hapless girl. 
And hurl confusion on thy base betrayer. 

Charles. (Attending only to Mary.) She's dead, 
she's dead ! 

Rave. Haste, tear her from his arms 
Ere the pollution of his touch destroy her. 

(^Alice and Walford convey Mary out^ r. h.J 

Charles. And have I killed her ! (gazing after her) 

Rave. Wretch, and do you mourn 
Over the clay^ that would have kill'd the soul ? 

Re-enter Walford, ("r. h.) 

Waif She has reviv'd, and calls for thee, my 
friend. [fate. 

Charles. She lives, she lives ! Then I defy my 

Rave. Outcast from Heav'n, thy doom is near at 
hand. 
Walford, we'll strait convey him to the church, 
Where by this time the judges have assembled, 
To try his sinful mother. 

Charles. How t my mother ! 
And have ye laid your sacrilegious hands 
Upon my mother ? 

Rave. Silence wretched youth. 
I will but see my daughter — meantime Walford;^ 
Guard well your prisoner. 



CAct4..J SUPERSTITION. 57 

Charles. Guard me ! heartless fatner, 
That feelestnot the ties of blood and nature-— 
Think you, at such an hour, I'd quit my mother ? 
(Exeunt Ravensworth, r. h. Charles and Wal- 

?ORD, L. H. 






END or ACT ir, 



^^I 



58 SUPERSTITION. (Barker.) 

ACT V. 

SCENE I.— J Wood.'-^( Stage dark.) 

Enter the Unknown, r. h. 

At length, unseen by human eye, I've gain'd 
Her neighbourhood. The .village lies before me ^ 
And on the right rises the eminence 
On which she dwells — She dwells ! who dwells ? O 

heart 
Hold till thou art assur'd. Such were the features, 
The stately form of her, whose cherish'd image, 
Time spares my widow'd heart, fresh and un- 

chang'd. — 
I must be satisfied. — 
The night has fallen 

Murky and thick ; and in the western Heavens, 
The last of day was shrouded in the folds 
Of gathering clouds, from whose dark confines 

come. 
At intervals, faint flashes, and the voice 
Of muttering thunder : there will be a storm. 
How is it that I feel, as never yet 
I felt, before the threatening elements ; 
My courage is bow'd down and cowers, as though 
The lowering canopy would fall in streams 
Of death and desolation. Dark portents. 
Hence ! There's a Heaven beyond the tempest's 

scope. 
Above the clouds of death. Wing your flight thi- 
ther. 
Thoughts — hopes, desires ; there is your resting 
place. fExity L. H.J 



{Act 5,) SUPERSTITION. 59 

SCENE II. — The interior of the Church, (^arrang- 
ed as a Hall of Justice. J Passages lead to doors 
on each side of the desk. 

The Judges seated at the desk. Charles stands 

on the left, near the Ju'^ges. Isabella nearer the 

front ; onthe same side Ravensworth, Walford, 

Mary, and Ai.ice ; on the opposite side^ lillagers^ 

Officers, ^c. 

Judge. Ye have heard the charge — but ere ye an- 
swer to it 
iBethink ye well. Confession may do much 
To save you from the penalty ; or mitigate 
Your punishment. Denial must deprive you 
Of every hope of mercy. — Answer then — 
And first, you, madam. 

Jsa. Sorcery ! Gracious Heaven ! 
Is it necessary, in this age of light. 
And before men and christians, I should deny 
A charge so monstrous ! 

Judge. Answer to the question. 

Isa. We are not guilty then ; so aid us Heaven ! 

Judge. Speak for yourself alone. Will you dis- 
close 
Who — what ye are ? 

Isa. I am a gentlewoman — 
More I cannot disclose. 

Judge. Say, wherefore, madam, 
You came among us ? 

Jsa. Sir, I came to seek 
A father. 

Judge. Who is he ? 

Jsa. I dare not name him. 

I^ave. Mark you, how she prevaricates f 

Judge. What evidence 
Have you against this woman ? 

Rave. Ye all remember 
The terror and despair that fill'd each bosom 



eo SUPERSTITION. (Barker,) 

When the red comet, signal of Heaven's wrath, 

Shook its portentous fires above our heads. 

Ye all have seen, and most of ye have felt 

The aiBictions which this groaning land is vex'd 

with — 
Our smiling fields wither'd by blight and blast. 
The fruitful earth parch'd into eddying dust, — 
On our fair coast the strewings of wreck'd com- 
merce ; 
In town and city, fire and pestilence, 
And famine, walking their destroying rounds — 
Our peaceful villages, the scene of slaughter, 
Echoing the savage yell, and frienzied shriek 
Of maid and matron, or the piercing wail 
Of widows and of orphans — 

Judge. We deplore 
The evils you recite ; but what avails 
Their repetition here ; and how do they 
Affect the cause in question ? 

Rave. Shall we forget 
That worldly pride and irreligious lightness, 
Are the provoking sins, which our grave synod 
Have urgM us to root out. Turn then to her, 
Swelling with earth-born vanity, to her 
Who scorns religion, and its meek professors ;• 
And, to this hour — until compell'd, ne*er stood 
Within these holy walls. 

Judg-e.Yet this is nothing, 
Touching the charge against her — you must be 
Less vague and general. Produce your proofs. 

Rave. There are two witnesses at hand; her 
servants — 
Who have confess'd she had prepared to fly 
This very night — a proof most clear and potent 
Of conscious guilt. But why refer to this ! 
Each one that hears me is a Vv'itness of it, 
It is the village horror. Call, at random. 
One from the crowd, and mark if he will dare 
To doubt -the thing I speak of. 



rAct 5.J SUPERSTITION. 61 

Judge* 'Tmust not be, 
Nor can we listen further. 

Jsab. I beseech you 
Let him proceed; let him endeavour still, 
To excite the passions of his auditors; 
It will but shew how weak he deems his proof 
Who lays such stress on prejudice. I fear not, 
But I can answer all his accusations. — 
If I intended flight — need I remind you 
Of what your fathers — what yourselves have done- 
It was not conscious guilt bade them or you 
Escape from that, was felt was persecution — 
If I have thought the manner of my worship 
A matter between Heaven and my conscience. 
How can ye blame me, who in caves and rocks 
Shunning the church, ofFer'd your secret prayers ? 
Or does my state offend ? Habit and taste 
May make some difference, and humble things 
Seem great to those more humble ; yet I have used 
My little wealth in benefits. Your saints 
Climb'd to high places — Cromwell to the highest — 
As the sun seeks the eminence from which 
He can diffuse his beams most bounteously 

Rave. The subtle power she serves docs not 
withhold 
The aid of sophistry, 

Isab. I pray my judges 
To shield me from the malice of this man. 
And bring me to the trial. I will meet it, 
As it concerns myself with firm indifference ; 
But as it toucTies him whom I exist in, 
With hope that my acquittal shall dissolve 
The fetters of my son. 

Rave. C Aside. J That must not be. 

Judge. Bring forth your proofs, and let the cause 
proceed. 

Rave. Perhaps it is the weakness of the father 
Prompts the suggestion — But I have bethought me, 
It were most fit this youth should first be dealt with, 

F 



62 SUPERSTITION. (Barker.) 

'Gainst whom there are a host of witnesses 
Ready to testify — unless his actions, 
Obvious and known, are proof enough — his life 
Which is a course of crime and profligacy, 
Ending, with comtemplated rape and murder. 

Jsab. What do I hear? 

Judge. How say you ? rape and murder \ 

Rave. The victim of his bloody purpose, lingers 
Upon the verge of death — Here are the proofs 
That point out the assassin ! (Shotuing the sivord 
and handkerchiefs uoh'ich are held by a Villager 
xvho is standing near him.) For the violence — 
Myself, my daughter here — 

Mary. O father, father ! 

Judge. These things are terrible. But you forget, 
They are not now the charge. 

Rave. What matters it, 
Whether by hellish arts of sorcery 
He wrought upon the maiden, — or with force 
Attempted violation — Let him answer — 
Denying one, he but admits the the other. 

Judge. Bid him stand forth. We wait your an- 
swer youth. 

Charles. You wait in vain — I shall not plead. 

Judge. Not plead ! 

Rave. (Aside.) This is beyond my hopes. 

Isab. O Charles, my son ! 

Judge. What do you mean ? 

Charles. Simply, sir, that I will not 
Place myself on my trial here. 

Judge. Your reason ? 
Do you question then the justice of the court ? 

Rave. He does, no doubt he does. 

Charles. However strong 
Might be the ground for question — 'tis not that 
Determines me to silence. 

Judge. If you hope 
To purchase safety by this contumacy ; 



CAct2.J SUPERSTITION. . 63 

'Tis fit you be aware that clinging there, 
You may pull ruin on your head. 

Charles. I know 
The danger I incur, but dare to meet it. 

Isab, O Charles, reflect — 

Charles. Mother my soul is fixed ; 
They shall not call yon maiden to the bar. 
Tremble not, weep not, pure and timid soul. 
They shall not question thee. 

Rave. Hence with thy spells — 
Take thine eyes off my child, ere her weak frame 
Yield to the charm she shakes with — hence I say! 
(^Mary attempts to speak., but is prevented by her 
Father.) 

Judge. Prisoner attend : at once inform the court 
Of all you know concerning the strange being, 
Who, like a supernatural visitant, 
Appear'd this day among us. What connexion 
Subsists between you ? 

Charles. None. I know him not. 

Rave. And yet this morning, ere the dawn had 
broken. 
They were both seen together in the forest. 
Holding mysterious converse. Here's a witness 
Who will avouch the fact ; and that the stranger 
With the first day-beam, vanished from his sight. 

Isab. (Aside.) He never told me this. Can he 
have met him ? 

Judge. Look on these things. They are mark'd 
with your name. 
And stain'd with blood. They were found near 

the spot 
Where a poor wretch lay bleeding. Can you eX" 
plain it ? 

Charles. They are mine — I do confess it. I eiv 
countered 
A person near that spot, an I wounded him 
In honourable duel. Nothing more 
Can I explain. 



64 SUPERSTITION. (Barker,) 

Mary. C Struggling J O father, let me speak. 
Rave. Silence ! Now answer me, and let the 
powers 
Of darkness, that sustain you in your pride 
Yield and abandon you unto your fate. 
Did you not robber like, this night break in 
My unguarded house, and there, with ruffian force 
Attempt the honour of this maiden ? 
Isab. Heaven ! 

Nave. D'ye hesitate ! you dare not answer nay ; 
For here are witnesses to your confusion. 
Who saw you clasp her in your vile embrace. 
And heard her shrieks for help. Nay here's the 

maiden. 
Who will herself aver it. 
Mary. Father, father ! 
Rave. Come forth, my child. 

(Attempting to lead her forward.) 
Charles. Forbear! it shall not need. 
Rave. Do you confess ? 
Charles. Whate'er you will. 
Isab. 'Tis past. 

{Ma.ky faints i?i the arms o/' Alice.) 
Rave. Hear ye this Judges ! People, hear ye this? 

(Storm commences.) 
And why do we delay ! His doom were death. 
Disdaining as he has to make his plea 
To the charge of sorcery. Now, his full confession, 
Which ye have heard, dooms him a second time, 

(Storm increases : Thunder and Lightning.) 
Then why do ye delay ? The angry Heavens — 
Hark, how they chide in thunder! Mark their 

lightnings. 
(The storm rages ; the Judges rise; all is confusion; 
the People and two Officers gather around 
Charles; Officers seizf^/ziw.j 
Isab. Save him ! O Heaven ! As ye are men, 
have mercy ! [tombs, 

Rafie» No; not beneath this roof;^ among the 



Acts.) SUPERSTITION. 65 

Under the fury of the madden'd sky j 
Fit time and place ! 

Charles. (As theif are dragging him out.) Mary ; 
my mother ! Mary ! 

Isab. My son ! 

(Leans nearly fainting in Lucy's arms,) 

Mary. (Reviving.) Who calls me t Ah ! What 
would ye do ? 
He's innocent — he's my betroth'd — my husband ! 
He came with my consent — he's innocent ! 

Rave. Listen not to her ; 'tis his hellish magic 
Speaks in her voice — away ! 

Mary. O Charles, my Charles ! — (She faints.) 
( They hear Charles out.^ l. h, u. e. The storm con* 
tinues.) 

Ravd. It is accomplish'd. 

Enter the Unknown, l. h. 

CJnk. What ? what is accomplish'd ? 

Rave. Who'rt thou that ask'st ? 

Unk. Nay answer me. They tell 
Of dreadful deeds ye are performing here. — 
How's this ! Has death been here among you ? 

Rave. Yes, 
W^hatever thou may'st be, death has been here 
Guided by Heaven's vengeance. 

Unk. Who is this ? 
'Tis she, 'tis ihe ! Dost know me Isabella? 

Jsab. Is it not — ? 

Unk. 'Tis, thy father. 

Isab. Father, father ! 
Have I then found thee ! But my son ! my son ! 

Unk. Unhappy child, be calm — I know thy storyj 
And do forgive and bless thee. 

Jsab. Thanks my father — 
But {Struggling td speak.) 

Unk, What means this? 



66 SUPERSTITION. (Barker.J 

Isab. O, fora moments strength — 
Haste — haste — they murder him — my son — 

Unk. Thy son, 
O, where ? 

Isab, There — there — O Heaven ! it is too late ! 

(They enter -with a Bur,, l. h. u. e. carrying 
Charles. The Unknown leads Is ab Eti. a slozvly 
tozvards it. J 

Enter Sir Reginald, l. h. 

iSir R. O, fatal tardiness ! and yet I came 
The instant that I learned it. Bloody monsters ! 
How will ye answer this ? Behold these papers. 
They're from the king ! They bid me seek a lady, 
NamM Isabella, whom he espoused in secret 
And her son Charles Fitzroy — And is it thus — 

Enter George Egerton, l. h. pale and weak.- 

O George, look there ! 

George. O, brave, unhappy j^outh ! 
My generous foe, my honourable conqueror ! 

Mary. ( Reviving) Nay, ye shall not detain me — 
I will go. 
And tell them all. Before I could not speak — 
My father held me here fast by the throat. , 
Why will you hold me I they will murder him. 
Unless I speak for him. He spoke for me — 
He sav'd my honour ; Ah ! what's here? O Heaven! 
Tis he — Is he asleep ? — No, it is not he. — 
I'd think 'twere he, but that his eyes are swoll'n' 
Out of their sockets — and his face is black 
With settled blood. — It is a murder*d man 
You've brought me to — and not my Charles — my 

Charles ! 
He was so young and lovely. — Soft, soft, soft ! 
Now I remember. — They have made you look so. 
To fright me from your love. It will not do — 
I know you well enough — I know those lips 
Tho' I have never touched them. There, love, there, 



(Act S,) SUPERSTITION. 67 

It is our nuptial kiss. They shall not cheat us — 
Hark in thine ear, how we will laugh at them. 
(Leans her head doxvn on the body ^ as if xvhisper'ing.) 

Sir i?. Alas ! poor maniac, 

(^Isabella rvho^ supported by her father^ had been 
bending over the body in 7mite despair is noxv sinking.) 

Unk. Daughter — Isabella — 

Isab. Father— (Looking up in his face.) 

Unk. You will not leave me, Isabella ? 

Isab. I would remain to comfort you, my father, 
But there's a tightness here. — For nineteen years 
He was my only stay on earth — my good 
My duteous son. Ere I found thee my father 
The cord was snapp'd — Forgive me — 
(Is ABK'Lia A falls ^afid is received in thearfUsofhvcY.) 

Unk. Bless thee, child — 
I will not linger long behind thee. 

(Storm subsides.) 

Sir R. Sir, 
If you're that lady's father, I have here 
A pardon for you from the king. 

Unk. I thank him ; 
But it is now too late. — She's gone. — The world 
Has nothing left for me — deep in the wilderness, 
I'll seek a grave, unknown, unseen by man. — 

Waif How fares your hapless friend ? 

Alice. Her cold cheek rests 
Against his cheek — not colder— 

Waif Place your hand 
Upon her heart : is there no beating there ? 

Alice. There is no beating there — She's dead ! 

Rave. Dead, dead ! — 

(^Ravensworth, zvho thro'* this scene.^ had shewn 
the signs of stern and settled despair., occasionally 
casting his eyes upon his daughter., or raising them to 
Heaven., but zvithdrawing them again in utter hope- 
lessness, now sinks groaning into the arms ofWAL" 
PORD. Isabella is on her knees., on the upper side 



68 



SUPERSTITION. 



(Barker 



of the bier^ leaning on Lucy. The Unknown, xvtth 
his hands clasp^d^ bends over his daughter. Alice 
is kneeling at the side of her friend. Sir Regi- 
nald and George Egerton stand near the head oj 
the bier. Lucy and Edward behind their mistress. 
The back ground filed up by the Judges, Villa- 
gers, &c. 

The Curtain falls amidst a burst of the Storm^ 
accompanied by Thunder a«<3? Lightning. J 

DispQsiti(m-cf the Characters when the Curtain falls. 







R. H. 



CURTAIN. 



L. H. 



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LRpJa'28 



